Proving the Great Detective
by jessicatheninja
Summary: Not everyone believed the great Sherlock Holmes was dead. When he returns to find that John has moved on, he finds an assistant and tries to move on himself. And then, as usual, everything goes wrong. T for violence, swearing and all that lovely Sherlocky stuff. SherlOC and spoilers!
1. Chapter 1

"Whatever you're holding on to, and believe me, I hold on to it too-"

"That's therapists' talk, John. I thought I told you no therapists' talk when I opened the door to let you in," Alice continued pacing.

"Remind me again-"

"He's alive, I know it. As for how we met, I work in the morgue with Molly, if you haven't noticed. He kind of ran right over me in the library at the hospital on a case. He was always on a case, and nutty when he wasn't," she handed him over another cup of tea. "Tea always makes everything better, now doesn't it? That's what my Gran always used to say, anyway."

"Why do you – well, I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but why do you care so much about him? Why do you still believe, even after two weeks of press saying he was a fraud? Why do you insist that what he told me on the phone was a lie?" John took a sip of tea, looking out of the window in Alice's flat. Who was this woman? Sherlock would have been able to tell a lot about her from the moment she opened the door… but then again, Sherlock apparently already knew her. Somehow.

"The Sherlock Holmes I know bloody ell wouldn't have jumped. I know it and I know you know it too. The Sherlock you know wouldn't have done that. He only lied when it was necessary, and this time it was. There was something, something up there that we all missed," she picked up her cup of tea, continuing to pace.

"Will you stop that?! We all know he's dead," John sighed in exasperation.

"No, he isn't, and you haven't noticed that I have avoided one of your questions. You're slipping up, John."

"I barely know you! You're pacing a rut into the floor of your flat talking about a dead man. Sherlock Holmes is dead. DEAD, do you hear me? Now answer my question," John added.

"Why do I care so much? When you were out of town, who did he have lunch with? Who took him out for coffee when he was in one of his nutter stages? Who flushed the last of his cigarettes? Who helped crack the cases you were too daft to help work on? ME, John. I've worked for the Guard since Sherlock began showing up, and I was always the consulting detective's consultant," she said, adding more sugar to her cup.

"That's not all. Why haven't I heard of you? Do you… do you know the Woman?" his mind flashed to tens of cases that they had solved, but none was more memorable than the way Sherlock took the case of the Woman.

"That dominatrix woman? The bartender at the café I looked her up in could have told me all about her. I knew from the moment I walked in that he was into some weird things. But Sherlock? Come on, John, think! He was crazy. **Is** crazy. A crazy genius."

"Will you tell me who you are, for goodness' sakes?!"

"I'm his friend, you'll be keen enough to notice that I am using the present tense here. Anyways, we met in the library of the hospital, and got to talking. That bloody man… he quizzed me on each of the people we saw at the café, and I got everything right, I'll have you know. I'm just like Sherlock, I mean, I can think like he can. I'm a bit of a sociopath, John. I'm not going to kill you, don't worry," she smiled as he raised his eyebrows on the word "sociopath".

"There's something I'm still missing," John sighed, "Something Sherlock would have picked up on."

"Well there's a bit of mystery in everyone, isn't there? Just more in some than others," she replied, sitting down across from him, "Sherlock Homes is alive, and I intend to prove it, but I don't know how. That's why I need your help. I need you, John. And you need me."


	2. Chapter 2

"There has to be something we all missed. If he's alive, he had help. There's no way he could have fooled us and Moriarty without help," she began pacing again.

"This is ridiculous. He didn't fool us, he jumped and you know it. You're chasing ghosts. We can't bring him back," John looked out the window again, determined to keep a calm façade.

"No, we can't."

"There, you've admitted it! He's dead."

"_No_, only _Sherlock_ can bring Sherlock back, because he's alive. He's long gone out of London by now, but you'll see. He'll reveal himself, even if he doesn't want to. Hiding out gets lonely."

"Sherlock doesn't get lonely. He's a madman. He's a robot, he's – oh look, you've got me talking in the present now!"

"Two observations, if you will permit me, Dr. Watson," she paused as he nodded, "One, you're using the present tense because deep down, _very_ deep down, you believe me. You _know_ Sherlock lives. Two, you can't play the violin in hiding. I know him, he'll need to be able to think or he really _will _go mad. Three – oops, I lied, sorry about that – he can't help but go looking for mysteries. We have to watch and wait. Mysterious deaths, suddenly solved. Dead, dried up cases opened and shut in days. Things that can't be explained, not by normal people, suddenly clear," she faced him, pausing in front of the mantelpiece, " with no real source, with stupid men bumbling about, claiming that they finally cracked the case, when in reality, as they are fielding questions they can't answer, the great Sherlock Holmes is heading to another corner of the globe. You see, John, he can't help his nature, and that nature will lead us right to him."

After a few seconds of floundering like a fish to find words, Watson replied, "You know, you sound like Sherlock. I'm sure he liked you, in a collegiate way, of course. I don't think he ever had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, or anything for that matter."

"Married to his work," Alice nodded, "so he told me when I asked about Molly being so close."

"No, I mean, you two are very similar, and I'd assume he liked that. You're on his level. But you don't sound like a pompous smartass trying to prove it." Watson couldn't help but smile, and that made Alice laugh too.

"Not interested," she laughed, "certainly not now."

"What?"

"The compliments, John. What is your motive? You've been talking to a woman you barely know, agreeing to help her search for someone the world presumes to be dead and complimenting her all the way. I'm not oblivious, John." She raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, I – I'm sorry. You're more Sherlock's type, if he even has a type."

"There it is again, the present tense! Also, by not contradicting me, you agreed to help me," she smiled now, pulling her hair back with a band on her wrist and taking a folder off of her bookshelf.

"Well, I guess I did… What's that?"

"Case file. I keep them on every case I'm involved in, along with other records. Do you want any more tea? No, no, do you like Chinese? We're going to need a while, assuming we stumble on a solid theory."

Chinese food was ordered and picked up, Watson only getting lost once on his way back to the flat. By the time he knocked on the door, Alice had spread out all of the papers in the file on the den's table. Watson stared, nearly open-mouthed as he handed over Alice's box. There was a copy of a death certificate, photos of both the hospital's roof and the ground, of Sherlock's body and Moriarty's, listings of the staff on duty at the time. It was everything Sherlock would have collected, names, times, dates, background information. This woman thought exactly like he – Sherlock – had, and Watson was set to prove it.

"So," Watson asked, pouring soy sauce on a pile of rice, "any ideas?"

"He must have had help. Look at the listing of staff on duty. Wait, where did you leave him?"

"Why does that matter? We want to know how he survived, even if he did, against almost insurmountable evidence."

"Think, John, think! Until we can narrow it down, all of it matters besides the impossible."

"Well, I got a call, saying Mrs. Hudson had been shot, and I left him in one of the labs, near the morgue. He was out of it, he didn't want to come with…"

"I need names. Janitors, nurses, anyone and anything that could have been on that level," she said, looking over the staff list, "WHO? Who was close, who would have helped him? What is the obvious thing that we're overlooking? And where is he now?"

"And why would he have lied to me about not being who he was?"

"Not important." She took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes.

"That was so Sherlock."

"I am not _that_ much like Sherlock!" she had to laugh. "Wait."

"What?"

"Something we overlooked, something we overlooked because it was there all along. He did have help, someone we wouldn't have expected, who would have been down by the morgue but almost unnoticed, since… since we all overlooked the possibility of it being her."

"I'm still not catching on. Perhaps you should start eating, your food's getting cold and an empty stomach doesn't help thinking."

"I barely eat when I'm on a case, especially when I'm not this close to a lead!"

"Don't tell me you smoke too."

"No," she laughed again, "Stop comparing me to Sherlock. How could I have been so stupid! The answer was with us all along!"

"Er…"

"Molly. Molly Hooper!"


	3. Chapter 3

Alice drummed her fingers as she waited for the phone to be picked up. Bach? Brahms? Mozart? It was definitely classical. No, it wasn't a composition John recognized. _It means something. Everything means something. But what? Why this piece of music? Why the composer that he had never heard, even in his primary school days of music lessons? No. the music, he did recognize it. He had heard it exactly once before, when it was being composed. It wasn't one of the old composers at all. It was Sherlock. _

"He… he played the violin for you?" _Now _John had a lead in finding out more about Dr. Alice Ripley, Investigator. Interesting what you can find out about a person from their habits. Especially the ones that they don't think others notice or pick up on. But really, she was a genius and he had been trained by the best, so she obviously didn't care if he noticed or picked up on the melody. Or she wanted him to know. Or she was so focused she didn't notice.

"What, John?" She held up one finger, letting compassion drip into her voice as she said, "Oh, Molly, hi! It's Alice. How are you? I know, I know, I'm taking it pretty rough too. Listen, are you in the lab? Great. I need your help. No, no, it's about… him. Sherlock. You know I don't quite believe it, what happened and all. Would you mind me coming over to the lab? Great. Do you want me to stop by your house and feed Toby? Don't want the poor cat to go hungry, now do you? Alright, I'll sop by on my way. Key's still in the same place? Great. See you soon." She hung up, nodding to John. "Let's go search Molly Hooper's flat."

"I don't believe this. I'm running around London with a woman I've practically just met, breaking into flats and visiting cats to look for my dead best friend," he muttered as Alice locked her door and pocketed the key.

"When we get there, look for her computer. I can get it open easily. It's her cat's name, Toby, in numbers. Amazing scientist, terrible detective for a reason, she is. Come on, it's just round the block."

As she opened the door to Molly's flat, Watson had a sudden thought. "He played the violin for you. You let that drop. You were once a debater, and I could tell from all of the debate trophies and plaques in your flat, so I know you know never to let points drop."

"Start searching. Then we'll talk," she said from behind an armchair.

Alice fed the cat and started to look around, filing through papers and settling on the desk. As she was prying it open with a paperclip, John came over. "That's the last place in this room. Now while you're, well, since you've broken into her desk and are now going through her emails, will you tell me something?"

"What?"

"He played the violin for you."

"That's a statement."

"He did."

"Yes. And?"

"He _never_ does that. He only composes or plays when he's thinking, and he had something on his mind when he was writing the song you were tapping out waiting for Molly to answer. That song, I'd only heard part of it. He would never play it, not when I was around. But Mrs. Hudson, she had said that when I was on holiday, or out on business, she would hear the most haunting tune, one just like that. He would play it late at night, but never when he was obviously thinking about a case. Why?"

"A very Holmes-ian speech, John," she said, not looking away from streams of data until Watson's next sentence was interrupted by a phone ringing. "Ah Molly, yes, I know I'm late, just feeding the cat. He's doing well. Decided to change the litter box for you." At this point, she waved a hand at Watson, telling him to change the litter box for her. "Yes, I'll be there soon. Do you mind if I pick up John Watson? No, he has an interest in this. He believes too. Deep down he does, I can tell. Okay. Bye bye."

"Why?" Watson asked from across the room. "Why did you hear that song? Why did no one else ever hear it, besides you and Sherlock?"

"I don't know," she said, closing the laptop, "but it's time to go."

Alice had signaled a cab, and as they were heading for St. Bartholomew's, confessed, "What I do know about that song though, well, don't call me crazy, but for three nights after… after what happened, I heard it. I mean, I really _heard_ it."

"In a dream, I'm sure."

"No, I don't think so. The first night I heard it was the night he jumped. It must have been three in the morning, but I woke up and heard this music, that song. I went out on the balcony of my flat and… We're here."

* * *

**A.N.: Look up the song "Anna" by Gunnar Madsen. Comment if it's familiar :) (or not, all comments are appreciated. I like feedback. It helps a lot.). Many thanks to all of my wonderful readers!**


	4. Chapter 4

"And?" Watson said after paying the cabby, "what happened?"

"There was a man, a shadow – have you ever heard the story of the fiddler on the roof, John?"

"I've seen the movie, if that counts." They entered the building, heading for a lift.

""Good enough. Well, I swear it was the violinist on the roof, playing that exact song, perfectly. Well, I yelled, I called out, I raised a commotion so loud the woman across the hall told me to shut up or she would get me committed as a loony. The shadow, the man, he didn't answer, and disappeared when the song ended. The next night, I woke up to the same song, three o'clock on the dial. I didn't yell, but he vanished all the same. Then, the third night, the same thing. When the man vanished, I'd figured he'd be back the next night, playing the same song. He wasn't, but when I got up the next morning-"

"The scarf," Watson said, watching her reach for her throat unconsciously, analyzing the blue scarf she was wearing. "He left it for you, as a sign, or a warning, or… or one of the neighborhood boys did this as a horrible trick."

"No. How could you be so obtuse? He and I were the only ones who knew that song entirely. He's alive, and for some reason, he left me this."

"Charming. Let's go interrogate Molly, shall we?"

"Molly!" Alice exclaimed, hugging her, "Good to see you! We need to talk. Tea?"

"You've had like seven cups already," Watson clucked.

"And? Tea helps me think. Like I said, tea makes everything better. I'm sticking by Gran's belief and I'm sticking by mine. Now Molly, tea?"

"Let's talk. John, could you get us some tea?" Molly asked meekly, "I think she wants to talk alone, even if she brought you with."

Watson nodded and left. "You want to talk about Sherlock, why didn't you just call me? We were on the phone until two in the morning the… the first night after he…"

"I needed to see your face," Alice took one of Molly's hands, noticing that they were trembling a little. Fear, by the look of the eyes. Fear, masked by despair. Nothing better than a good façade. "I need to _read_ it."

Molly smiled a bit awkwardly. She wasn't used to smiling much, and she was glad that Alice was so friendly. Alice was like that, friendly to everybody. Molly was sure Sherlock was one of her – Alice's – friends, especially after their distraught phone calls after he had jumped. Practically the whole building was Alice's friend, she was there so often and was so nice to people. "You sound so much like Sherlock."

"You're the second person to tell me that today. I get it a lot. Molly, is there something you know, anything that we don't, about what happened? We both think he's alive, and you know why I believe it. I know that violinist was him. I know he was there, even my very bones know it. You know that gut feeling. But why do you believe he's alive? I noticed you'd never told me."

"I… well, he was Sherlock, the great Sherlock Holmes. It just doesn't seem right that he died. He's like that, you know. You never really know what's going on in that brilliant head of his. I, I just know he's alive, like you do."

Alice began firing questions rapidly. "_Youhavethatgutfeeling,thatintuition?Thatnaggingvoiceinyourheadthatwon'tbequiet?TheonesayingSherlock'saliveandyouhelpedhimbuthehasn'tcontactedyousoyou'reafraid?"_

"Yes. I mean, no. I have that voice, and I believe, yes, but I don't know anything more than that, I promise I don't! I would have _told _you!" She was practically whining by now, her eyes sparkling. "I would have said something, since you had been curious since the beginning. We both doubted what had happened and wanted to know everything, and I helped you research as far as I could understand."

"Tears and that voice, a great couple of weapons. And such wordiness, really, Molly? I still believe you know something, some nugget of information that could lead me to him, but, as promised, Watson will be in with that tea in under thirty seconds, and our discussion will be over. John and I will update you, but we'll be hunting primarily without you."

"Tea?" The door opened, Watson carrying three takeout cups on a cardboard tray. Molly gasped and Alice gave her a look.

"That look," Watson said, "that '_we all know what's going on here_' look. That's Sherlock's. How long have you been spending round him?"

"_Relax_, we went out for lunch a few times, we went for coffee, nothing much. We would meet up in the library or down in the labs and talk. We enjoyed each other's company. We'd each finally found someone who we could talk to like proper adults, a sounding board for ideas that would contribute _correct_ information and not bumble around with the impossible. Our minds were similar. Are similar," Alice had turned her whip-like tongue on him now, Molly meekly taking a cup of tea from the tray while Alice hurled explanations at Watson. "We'd found a bit of ourselves, I suppose."

"You expect me to believe he played that song for you in the library? I'm not that daft."

"Song, what song?" Molly wanted to know. "He wrote a song for you?"

"It was the _one time_ we went out for dinner, happy? It was strictly a business dinner, though dead bodies don't make particularly splendid dinner conversation at all."

"You said 'dinner' three times in two sentences. You wanted it to be something more, didn't you? More than business?" Watson set down his cup, looking with disbelief.

Alice sighed. "We'd found each other. Finally. Someone we could talk to on our level, who didn't bore us to death – well, that was a bit insensitive… oops - anyway, someone who we didn't have to explain everything to. We could skip facts and petty details and understand each other without them. It was thinking in words with another person that thought the same way, that organized everything into a word palace-"

"What's a word palace?" Molly asked.

Alice continued right over her. "It was like… like thinking so fast that it was like music. It was exactly like thinking in music."


	5. Chapter 5

"Thinking in music?" Watson asked, nodding to a waiter.

"Yes, exactly like that," Alice replied, "exactly." It had been two days since their adventure in the morgue, and Watson had met Alice for lunch. Molly hadn't contacted either one of them since, and they were kind of glad. "I want to ransack your house," she added as an afterthought.

"What?" Watson nearly choked. "You want to ransack my house? Why?"

"To see if there was anything you had missed, anything he had left behind. Clues."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." It was Alice's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"That's what he said to me as I left the lab and found Mrs. Hudson was alright. _'Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.'_ What do those words mean to you? Did he know what was going to happen?"

"I'm sure he did. But to me, that means he didn't realize all he had. He had us. He still does." She was cut off when a reporter came up to them. Younger, fresh out of university, probable Journalism degree, judging by the wear on the clothes and the shoes. First story ever, just spotted some good material while passing an outside café, judging by the expression. Bit lazy, didn't properly brush his hair, so nowhere special to go. Not wealthy, but the landlady did the washing. Unarmed, except for a notepad and camera.

"Are you Dr. John Watson? And Ms. Alice Ripley?"

"**Dr.** Ripley," Alice corrected, "And you are?"

"I've heard about you! You can think like Sherlock, can't you? You work for the police, doing the same work he did, but no one noticed you since you never wanted a lot of credit. Tell me what you know about me. Go on, show how you think!"

"Okay," Alice smiled wickedly, "Fresh out of university with a degree in Journalism. This is your first story, since the date on your ID says it was printed yesterday. Your hair isn't brushed well, so I'd say you're a bit lazy, off for a bit of lunch before you try to scrounge up a story to meet your first deadline and convince the paper to keep you, when _**BAM!**_ you spotted us, knowing the Holmes Scandal would make a good story so you come up here and say hello. Of course you know John, he's been in all the papers, and you know a bit about me, seeing as how you got my name almost right. Most likely from the article on 'The New Sherlock', what they're trying to make me know. You write with your left hand, the ink smear on it gives it away. What else? Your landlady did your washing, since it doesn't look rumpled, and I can tell you wouldn't fold your own laundry. Probably a new landlady too, since they make you do your own laundry after a few weeks, except – ah, you wanted to get me wrong there? Keen. – except you _have_ been there for a few weeks and she's still doing your laundry because she's probably a childless older woman, since she took the liberty of matching that outfit for you and there's a flour stain on your shoulder. She does a lot of baking because she doesn't have a job, and she's put a bag of cookies in your satchel there. I can see them. Correct?"

"All of it," the reporter said, stunned. He asked for a picture, which Alice and Watson consented to. "Is it true then? That you two are searching for Sherlock Holmes, that you don't believe he killed himself?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"And where are you going to start?"

Alice slammed a hand on the table, looking at a television in a window across the road. "John, we need plane tickets. There's a hit, and I know it's him."


	6. Chapter 6

"China, New Delhi, Hamburg, Amsterdam, now you want to drag me off to Brussels?" an irritated John Watson asked. It had been nearly two years since Sherlock had died, and Alice had insisted on dragging him all over the world. "What about Mary? Mary doesn't like me gallivanting about with you all over the world."

"Gallivanting? GALLIVANTING, is that what you call it? Looking for your best friend you know to be alive? Gallivanting? Please, Brussels will probably be the last trip. Maybe somewhere in France-"

"Mary will not let you take me on a holiday in France!"

"John, this is not a holiday. Look here," she insisted, pulling up a map on her laptop. "Follow the trail. China, New Delhi, Hamburg, Amsterdam, and now Brussels. This website plotted it all out. John," she paused, "I think he's coming back."

"You've held on to this long enough," Watson told her, "You've been dreaming of him for too long now. It's only a matter of time before you start seeing him in your head and go mad. Drop this rubbish, do you hear me? All of these nights staying up, the days without food, pushing work off to the last possible second and then solving the crime when the department has reached its limit, this has to stop. You can't keep invading my flat and camping out there, or searching his room, or trying… trying to connect the dots when there are really no dots at all. You have to give up. I'm sorry."

"He's coming back, I know it," she said.

"You know it? You seem to _know_ everything. You have to stop hoping, because there's nothing to hope for. He would have at least contacted us by now. It's been two years, Alice! Give up."

"I'm not giving up. Not on Sherlock. And you wouldn't give up on him either, not if you had a sign."

"A sign? He's sent you a sign?"

"Look at this here," Alice said, pulling out her phone. The message was dated the day before.

_I know you haven't forgotten me. John either. ;) – SH_

"He never replied."

"What? That's… that's impossible. And what's with the winky face? He almost never sends fa-" Watson was cut off by her phone buzzing.

_Soon. ;) - SH_


	7. Chapter 7

Alice was stuck. She had been working on a case for a few days, and she had gotten nowhere. A man had showed up in the police department, claiming that he was being watched and that people were trying to follow him. He was a lawyer, and a very prominent one at that, but he wasn't on any watch lists the government had. There were three possible solutions to it, which, in descending order of likelihood were: the man was delusional, the man was being followed by a person or group better than she, or the man was being followed by one of her equals, namely the great Sherlock Holmes. Watson had been little help, but he had offered to tail the man and see if anyone had been following the both of them. So far, no results. She had gone to bed thinking the case over, making sure to lock her doors. "I'm going crazy too," she laughed, locking the balcony door in her room and checking it. "I'm convincing myself that someone's out there."

Lying awake at three in the morning, Alice reviewed the facts in her head. The man was single, living alone, spending a lot of time working, and was not a drug user, medicinal or recreational. Paranoia or delusions could sometimes come after a large change or a catastrophic event, and the man fit this. He had recently lost the court case of the decade to an amateur in his own office. Definitely a blow to his character. And he had all of the erratic, classic signs of paranoia. He had even checked her office for cameras before sitting down to talk. Watson had checked up on this when he was tailing the man to make sure it wasn't a ruse, and he turned out to be the same way at home, checking his whole flat repeatedly before going to bed each night. He had… _the door. Someone was opening the door to the balcony. _She reached for the gun in the nightstand drawer, flicking on the lights as the door popped open. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a voice from the shadows.

"No," Alice gasped, "Show yourself."


	8. Chapter 8

A man stepped out of the shadow cast by her drapes, and Alice dropped the gun, engulfing him in a hug before he could say a word. "I'm never letting you go again! Where have-" She was cut off by a swift kiss and a whisper of, "Quiet. No one needs to know I'm back just yet. And he's crazy, the man John's been tailing. You're right."

"Sherlock… did Sherlock Holmes just kiss me?" Alice laughed.

"I had to make you shut up and be quieter somehow," he replied. "I could really go for a cup of tea now, if you wouldn't mind."

"Don't change the subject. Now come down stairs, I'm sure you're freezing. How long were you on the roof? Not long, by the looks of you," she deduced.

"How did I do it?" he asked, taking a seat on the sofa as she made tea.

"With a bit of help from Molly Hooper, whom you kissed as well. She's been wearing far too much lipstick and unconsciously touches her mouth whenever I mention you."

"It was only part of the job. She deserved a reward, and you know she's been wanting that for a while. Don't give me that smile, it meant nothing. Oh, the eyebrow. Going quite femme fatale now, aren't you? No, I didn't go after her, if it's what I think you mean. The Woman, well, I had loved her until I realized that she was completely taken over by lust. She _was_ lust. And… I want a _mind,_ not a body. And everyone is lust-driven… and so **STUPID.** Well, _nearly _everyone." He winked as she handed him a cup of tea.

"Sherlock Holmes, did you or did you not just wink at me when you said that?"

"I did."

"And you said '_nearly_ everyone'."

"I did." She raised an eyebrow, to which he said, "Nearly every woman. Every one, it seems, but you."

"Is this your odd way of saying-"

He nodded slightly. "Only if you want, of course. Dinner. Tomorrow. Somewhere quiet, so not in London. I'll send you the details later." He stood as the clock struck three-thirty. "I have to run. Do take care not to tell anyone I'm back just yet. I want it to be a surprise. Goodnight." He pecked her cheek and headed upstairs, already gone when Alice followed. And he had locked the door on his way out.


	9. Chapter 9

Alice woke up later than she usually would, since the next morning was Saturday. Yawning and bleary-eyed, she was headed for the kitchen when she saw there were notes stuck to her front window. Curiously, she opened the door to find dozens of them, along with several envelopes and copies of the morning's papers. Not bothering to read them, she put everything into a pile, dumped it on the table, and proceeded to make breakfast. It was only when she sat down did she see the tabloids had done something terrible. The first paper she picked up had Sherlock's famous picture – the one in the hat – on the front, with a glaring headline "Late Detective's Love Interest Revealed!" Alice shook her head, asking herself, "What the bloody hell?"

_The late fraudulent detective Sherlock Holmes' case has been reopened again by yours truly, Kitty Riley. This time it is his personal life that stands trial, with new evidence surfacing about the woman he loved and hid from the rest of the world, even his best friend and brother. Dr. Alice Ripley, an investigator with the Scotland Yard working in London, appears to have been the object of the detective's fancy. Sources say that she has a brilliant mind, much like he claimed to have. Whether or not this is true has not been confirmed, but personally, if he faked it all, so does she. Having avoided a scandal at the time of his death, the truth, now discovered, has been revealed about the goings-on between the two alleged lovers. Currently residing near the late detective's Baker Street home, she continues to work for the government. One can only guess that some sort of past trauma drove her into the department, and right into the arms of her love. Added to this trauma is the blow that the death of…_

Alice cast the paper aside, picking up her phone in disgust. "John? Have you seen this morning's paper? I know, it's atrocious what they're doing. Turn on the telly? Why?" She hit the power button on the television, and the news channel came up, scrolling a banner that read "Major newspapers hacked: Holmes story released early." "John, there are exactly two possibilities of what this could be. One, someone really hates us, and two, he did this on purpose to bring attention back to his name, to have the spotlight already on him before he makes a grand entrance. Don't call me silly. May I remind you who you're talking to? And will you please tell Mrs. Hudson to stop shrieking about me? I can hear her pretty much all the way down the block." She hung up after leaving molly a message, and then turned back to the pile of letters and notes that had been at her door.

Plenty of it was hate mail, saying she and Sherlock were frauds; they were still grabbing attention, that she was a terrible person, et cetera. Someone had defaced the article and left her a copy. Others had left notes of sympathy, saying things about the two-year anniversary of his death. Alice threw most of it away, but opened an envelope that had one of her return address labels on it. The only way someone could have gotten one of those was from being in the flat.

_I know you've already gotten it. This is just a prelude to the concerto that will be my return. It'll get people talking, and this definitely will, right? Lucky me, I just found it. See you soon. Fondly, SH. _


	10. Chapter 10

"Change of plans. We're not going out for dinner," Sherlock said as he dropped through Alice's bathroom skylight under the cover of darkness.

"What the hell? How long have you been watching my flat?" She ran in from the kitchen, where she had been making sure the windows were all locked (not that that really mattered. If anyone wanted to break in badly, they would anyway.)

"Not for too long. I climbed up onto the roof when it got dark. I promise I wasn't watching through the skylight."

"I would have noticed."

"People almost never look up. That's why windows are on the sides of houses," he laughed, "Okay, not really. But surely you know that up is the least commonly looked-at direction."

"Okay then, I'll just have to believe you. You show no signs of lying, but being who you are, you're a proficient liar. Where are we going, if you're not taking me to dinner?" Alice grabbed her coat as he gave her a '_that's obvious'_ look. "Where's the hot date? The morgue? Where better?"

"We're solving a crime," he answered, giving her a hug now that she was ready to go. "A crime that you haven't been assigned yet because Lestroude thinks the regular people at the department can solve it. I think I have a lead."

"Okay, if you're so bored that you have resorted to solving crimes from afar, there's something wrong. Why don't you just make your comeback already? Or why don't you stay at my flat and not sleep out on the streets? Don't give me that look. I know that's what you've been doing. There's dirt on your coat, for one," she said, locking the door and turning to face him. "Tell me you're not going to wear that hat. It's a dead giveaway. Not under the radar at all."

"Follow me," he said, turning down an alley. "I'm waiting to return to the world. Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, and I'm building up press. If you solve this case in a day, then the news will continue, all the way to my return. And I'm fine on the street. Won't, say, John notice if I stay with you for a while? I mean, he's not that perceptive, but he can't miss another person being there. And Mrs. Hudson, now that you're leasing from her, would notice." This, in fact, was true. Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to practically give Alice 221C, which she had moved into a week or so before. She liked being nearer to St. Bart's, the police, and John and Mrs. Hudson, her only "family" in London.

"Drop in from the skylight and you'll be fine. They haven't noticed you yet. Seriously, where are we going? Generally I don't follow men down alleys," she smiled.

"I'll stay tonight, if you insist. And to answer your other question, we're almost there. There have been two murders so far, both committed by a woman in a burqua, witnesses say. I, however, believe it is a disguise, not one meant to be religious."

"Excell… wait. Islamabad. You-"

"No, that is not what I think it is," he said, looking her in the eye, "and I never went back there. I do not intend to speak to Ms. Adler ever again, and I have blocked her number from my phone. I'll prove it, if you'd like, when we get back to the flat. But for now, we have something to investigate."

They entered the back of a Saudi Arabian restaurant, closing the door quietly. The manager was waiting, and told them in a whisper that he had had a customer come in in a burqua who had a very rough voice and odd mannerisms. As a woman came into the back room, Alice leaned over to Sherlock, saying, "I've already profiled him, but I have a hunch the woman in a burqua may not be a woman at all."

"That's what I was thinking. The killing pattern has been almost too brutal to be a woman. In none of the murders I've seen committed by women had the victim been violently beaten to death with wooden boards, then cut open and left in the street," he whispered back.

The woman who had entered was the manager's mother. She said something to him in Arabic, which he translated (though Alice was pretty sure that Sherlock knew basic Arabic and could understand it himself, while she had only a vague idea of what the old woman had said). "She says the couple is cute," the manager told them.

"_Shukran1_," Sherlock smiled. "Alice, I believe it's time to go. Thank you very much. You've helped us a lot."

They left, Alice turning on Sherlock the minute they closed the door to the restaurant. "You've never denied the reports you made the tabloids print, and you thanked that woman for what she said. This is telling me something, Sherlock Holmes."

"How do I respond to that? Uh…" The great Sherlock Holmes, the man who could solve a murder in a day and fake his own death, was at a loss for words. "I really don't have any experience to draw on here, and that's what knowledge of what to say is built on. Umm… girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend," Alice smiled, holding his hand as they walked out of the alley. "Sounds good to me."

1 Thank you.


	11. Chapter 11

"Sherlock Holmes vilified…" Alice knew he had seen the stories after dropping her off at her flat the night before, insisting that he had unfinished business with the government, and a visit to Mycroft was due. She had been up early, and was in the office working on – surprise! – the case of a murderer wearing a burqua that had to be tracked down before (s)he struck again. The case would be easy, open and shut as soon as Alice got on the road and tracked the culprit down, but Molly had called her to the hospital to see the news and check a body for signs of poisoning. "A juror admitted that they were threatened in the Moriarty case, and Sherlock Holmes has been vilified. This news, however, comes two years too late for the detective, after he jumped to his death from Saint Bart's Hospital."

"It's not true," Alice said to Molly. "He didn't die."

"No," she replied, not taking her eyes off the newscast, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

"Congratulations, by the way," Alice changed the subject, "Tom seems like a great guy. Not all the ones you fall for are sociopaths. I've taken the liberty of profiling him already."

"Thank you. Will you be a bridesmaid?" Molly asked.

"Of course! Let me know all of the details, and I'll be there! Now, what about that body you wanted me to take a look at?"

Meanwhile, John Watson had headed out for a dinner date. Mary would be thee any minute. "Would you like ze wine list?" a waiter buzzed by, asking.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," John told him distractedly. When the waiter came back with a bottle of wine, Mary was there, John half way through his proposal. "_**You**_!"

"Short story: not dead."

A few hours later, Sherlock was back in 221B, talking to Mrs. Hudson with a busted lip. "He's not taking it well, for some reason." Alice walked in, asking how it felt to be alive again, when a frantic knock silenced their conversation.

"John's missing!" Mary ran into the flat with her phone, saying, "He's gone, and at first I thought this message was some sort of religious thing, but look. There's got to be a code here."

Sherlock had grabbed his coat and was starting out the door when Alice followed them. "There's no time, and I think I know where he is. We don't have time for a cab. Stay here, we'll be fine. Mrs. Hudson, see that she doesn't get hurt or anything."

Alice and Mrs. Hudson moved over to 221C, Alice's flat. There they sat until they heard voices in the hallway. The voices were headed for the flat next door, so the worried women headed back to find everyone safe, albeit a bit singed. "This is only the beginning, I'm afraid," Sherlock warned. "There's worse coming, and we only have a day."


	12. Chapter 12

"Where have you been?! I've been worried sick, and the poor dear next door has been off her head with worry! She was over here nearly all evening, and neither of us had heard from you or John," Mrs. Hudson was berating Sherlock the minute he came through the door.

"I've just saved Britain, Mrs. Hudson. Calm down. You know I'm practically indestructible."

"Oh, Sherlock…"

"I'll be back soon. I guess I have to head next door and face the wrath that's over there," he said, heading out the door.

Sure enough, Alice started asking questions as soon as she opened the door to 221C. "Where have you been? Mrs. Hudson and I were going mad trying to contact you, and we couldn't get a hold of John either. We rang both of you at least twenty times! Mycroft told us you were out working, but that was no use, and Lestrade didn't know anything either! You could have at least told us something."

"I just saved Great Britain."

"While we were worried out of our heads!

"You don't want to know how I did it?"

"Admittedly, I am a bit curious," she said, handing him a cup of tea and gesturing towards the sofa. "This seems like a long story. Take off your coat and sit down."

"Well, you're very smart. What day is it?"

"November fifth, why? Wait, it's Guy Fawkes' Night… Guy Fawkes… t'was his intent to… oh my – really?"

"Blow up the King and Parliament, yes. Someone had placed charges underneath Parliament, and they were about to detonate them when I managed to figure out how to disable a bomb. John, of course, had no faith in me, but I found the kill switch," Sherlock said, settling down next to her. "They evacuated Parliament and the bomb squad took care of the rest. Didn't you see the news? We were all over it. I'm apparently going to be hounded by the press tomorrow, so I wouldn't advise doing your shopping then. Baker Street will be teeming with reporters."

"So how did you find out there was a plot in the first place? Someone had to have tipped you two off."

"Well, there turned out to be a station that was never connected to the Tube, and that's where they hid the bomb. We're dealing with an international terrorist group, which Mycroft discovered and alerted me of, once he had brought me back for Serbia. Really, it was almost all Mycroft. He's the genius."

"You're brilliant," Alice told him, "Everyone knows that. You're Sherlock Holmes."

"Mycroft was always the smarter brother, really. I thought I was so stupid, and so did he. And then we met other children. But I'm still the stupider brother," Sherlock told her, "and I always will be."

"If you insist that you are, alright, but it's not true. Just don't call yourself stupid all the time. You're still the braver brother. Who stopped Moriarity? Who spent the last two years breaking down the connections that he had built up?"

"Who spent the last two years running the country while following his little brother across the globe? Who discovered the terror network plotting to bomb Parliament? Who led Britain away from financial crisis? Mycroft. While I spent my last two years hiding and failed to tell my best friends I was alive. Who has the charisma of a politician? Mycroft, while I despise common people."

"I don't give a _**damn**_ about Mycroft. Don't you see that? You're _Sherlock _Holmes, and that's who I care about, not Mr. I-am-the-British-government-Mycroft. So what, he may be the smarter one, the braver one, the more charismatic one, at least in your opinion, but you, you're _Sherlock_." She hugged him fiercely, "You're _my_ Sherlock."

"Thank you." He kissed her lightly and then hugged her back. "Thank you." It was a moment that Mrs. Hudson would have smiled at while wondering what John would have thought about his ex-boyfriend finally kissing a girl. Like actually kissing. Good for Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson was beginning to think he was a robot. However, it was spoiled when Sherlock's phone rang. "Bloody hell… Hello? What do you want now, Mycroft?" Alice smiled, watching his expression change. "Very well." He stood and grabbed his coat, Alice following suit. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To investigate a suspicious murder, which happened while the Parliament scare was going on," she said, buttoning her own coat, "Where else?"

"Very well then. Let's go," Sherlock had tied on his scarf and was heading for the door, "because the game is on."


	13. Chapter 13

Alice stood smiling at John and Mary's wedding. All had gone well so far, including the stopping of an attempted murder. All in all it was, a pretty much normal wedding for them. Sherlock had given his best man's speech, and the tables had been cleared for dancing. The first dance made both sets of in-laws weep, Sherlock and Alice watching from the sidelines, covertly holding hands. Alice's phone beeped.

_It's not over. – Irene_

She shook her head, telling Sherlock it had been a solicitation when he asked. "Alice, dear, can I talk to you?" Mrs. Hudson had edged her way over from a nearby table. "Oh, hello, Sherlock. That was a great speech you made, but I need to talk to Alice alone."

They made their way outside, Alice wondering if something were wrong. Or if there was another murderer hiding in the crowd. Hiding in plain sight was the best way to get things done, but nosy old women would always be there to rat on you. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Hudson? Is someone here worrying you?" Alice asked as they walked further from the party.

"No, no, it's nothing like what you three stopped earlier. I want to caution you," Mrs. Hudson turned to look back at the party. "It's about Sherlock. He had this nasty drug habit a long time ago, before he came to Baker Street. Well, I'm just worried that between being dead and coming back and then with john's wedding and all of these, these huge changes in his life…"

"You're worried he's started again?" Alice asked, the joy and lightness of the party draining from her face.

"Well, I want you to be on the lookout. John won't be living with him anymore, and you know how these things are with mother figures like me. We're the last ones to know," Mrs. Hudson told her, "I want you to just be… watching for anything. Alright?"

"I will," Alice promised. "But he seems so… happy? I don't know if that's the word for it…"

"He likes to hide behind masks like that. He seems to think that if you never make yourself vulnerable in the first place, you can't be taken down." Mrs. Hudson began heading back to the party, Alice following behind. "Now, I hope I haven't ruined the evening for you. Let's go. Oh look, I think they're about to cut the cake. John's father just gave a toast."

They got back to the building just as Sherlock was raising his glass. "A toast," he said, "to, according to my calculations, the three of you."

"Oh no," Alice whispered, fighting her way through the crowd which had begun murmuring as Sherlock downed his fifth? sixth? glass of champagne. "Sherlock, come here. You're drunk." She managed to get to him and pull him out of the room, calling for a cab as the party continued without them. "How many glasses have you had? And anything else?"

"Wine, champagne, eight? Nine?" he hiccupped.

"Dear Lord," she shook her head as they got into the cab. "221B Baker Street, please."

"Nauseous," Sherlock said five minutes into the ride to Baker Street, "Alice, I don't feel good. Not at all."

"Well, that'll teach you not to drink so much! Really, that toast was a bit over the top."

"I never had any toast. What are you talking about? It's not time for breakfast, is it? I don't want any food."

"Let's go," she said, handing the cabby a few quid and unlocking the door to the flat. She pulled him inside, sending him to bed and leaving a note for Mrs. Hudson that said they had gotten home alright and that she hoped everyone had a good time. She was getting ready to fall asleep herself when her phone went off again, this time with two messages.

_G'night. Don't wake me. Please. – SH_

The second worried her a lot more.

_Alive. - I_


	14. Chapter 14

Alice was scrolling through John's blog, looking to see if he had updated it from the Islands. It was Mary's idea to go somewhere warm, away from England for a few weeks. John had not so readily left his medical practice, worried that a lot would happen without him. Alice had to assure him people could take over, and that she would watch Sherlock for him. Then, of course, Sherlock had yelled "Not a puppy!" through the wall into 221C.

"Sherlock, what is this? Why are you posting on John's blog while he's away?" she asked, walking into the flat next door. "I know it's easy to hack into, but it doesn't mean you should."

"I'm bored."

"And you can't go writing things like that. Everyone reads this," she told him, putting her phone in her pocket and crossing her arms.

"But it's true," he explained, "a honeymoon is just a-"

"Sherlock!"

"What? I wasn't swearing," he said, gesturing towards the swear jar he had been forced to set up for John, an ex-military man with a colorful vocabulary.

"It's just not… nice."

"Well, I'm bored." He jumped up from the sofa, turned abruptly, and pulled a handgun out of nowhere, firing into the smiley face pained in yellow on the wall. "No cases make for a boring life. Mrs. Hudson says I get destructive when I'm bored. Do you think I'm destructive when I'm bored?" He added a bullet nose to the face and sat down again.

"Err…" Alice thought of Mrs. Hudson's earlier warning about self destructive Sherlock. "Tell you what," she offered, "how about we play Cluedo and then go out for dinner? Or I can make dinner here and we can invite Mrs. Hudson over."

"Like an old married couple already, you two are," Mrs. Hudson came into the room from a hallway that led off of the den. She was carrying a box of cleaning supplies and a bag of trash. "I know, I'm not your housekeeper, but we all have a bit of a change going on now, what with John married and all."

"That's lovely of you, Mrs. Hudson. Why don't I give you a hand and we can get the trash out and the cleaning settled, and then sit down for a game of Cluedo?" Alice asked. "Sherlock, why don't you thank her for cleaning up after you?"

Sherlock was standing, looking alarmed. "Were you in my room?"

"Sherlock, she meant well…"

"Were you in my room? No one goes in my room without my permission," he said stormily, "what is it with people always meddling?!"

"Sherlock Holmes, you apologize this minute!" Alice scolded, "She was trying to be helpful! She didn't mean any harm! Really, you may be brilliant, but you sound like a child!"

"I, I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson," he said as Alice glared at him.

"Good," Alice nodded, "now let's get all cleaned up. I'm sure Sherlock would be willing to take the trash downstairs for you, Mrs. Hudson. I'll help you get things squared away here, and then we can all play Cluedo like civilized people."

Sherlock went downstairs grudgingly, and Mrs. Hudson turned to Alice. "I'm very glad he listens to you. He would get mixed up in all kinds of trouble if he didn't. Thank you for helping him dear. And what I said is true. You two really do sound like an old married couple sometimes."

"I heard that," Sherlock said, coming back in. As soon as they had gotten the table cleared off (and Mrs. Hudson stopped shrieking about the jar of eyes she had found there) and dinner ordered, they settled down to play Cluedo. "The Reverend committed suicide in the study," Sherlock deduced before any of them had made a move. "He hanged himself."

"The game is about murder, and I have the Reverend, so that's impossible," Alice said.

"Thanks for letting me know," Sherlock smirked. "At least I know who has the Revered now."

Alice sighed, her phone going off. "Look, everyone," she held it up, showing them the picture. "Mary just sent me this. She says they're having fun at the beach and it's nothing like the rocky beaches here."

"Tell her and John to have a nice," Sherlock paused for a second, "holiday."

"I will," Alice said, "and thank you for being politically correct."

"Political correctness is another form of playing by the rules. I don't play by the rules."

"As I am aware," Mrs. Hudson piped up, "but it isn't correct to leave heads in the refrigerator or eyes on the table. Really, you shouldn't be storing food with dead bodies. And it was Scarlet with the revolver in the library." It turned out that she was right, but they were interrupted by the doorbell. Mrs. Hudson went to get it, and when she came back, she handed a note to Sherlock and Alice. "The pizza man gave me this. Says his last order was from Lestrade and he was told to bring this here."

"Well, what is it?" Alice asked, reading over Sherlock's shoulder. "A revered committed suicide by hanging in his study. There is no known explanation… that's odd. Wasn't that your first guess?"

"Something's up," Sherlock agreed. "We'd better go. Mrs. Hudson, please put that in the refrigerator next to the jar labeled 'lung'. This may be a while."

They headed out the door, leaving Mrs. Hudson to gasp when she really did find a jar of lungs in the refrigerator.


	15. Chapter 15

"What are the odds? A revered hangs himself in his study with no motive just as you guess that in a game of Cluedo?" Alice asked, "Don't bother calculating them."

No matter how strange it seemed, Sherlock was glad to be on a case again. Really, a sedentary life was so boring. Dreadfully, deathly boring. Lestrade met them at the crime scene, saying that the man had died an hour before. "Let's see," Sherlock pulled out a magnifying glass to inspect the rope as Alice began profiling the man in question.

"Sixties, married, perhaps unhappily, from the looks of the desk. Pictures of the kids, but not the wife,. Very telling. Right handed by the looks of the ink stains on his sleeve. Didn't leave a note, so he must have been working today, or he's wearing an old shirt. No, working today. Let's see, we need a motive here. Why now, why like this?" Lestrade watched them work, Sherlock profiling the man just like Alice was. "Sherlock, can you find something else to stand on? I need to see the desk." He jumped onto the chair that the man had evidently stepped off of.

"Sorry if I mussed anything up there," he said, "but I think the body itself is very telling."

Alice checked out the desk, stopping when she found the cell phone in the top left drawer. "Four numbers," she said.

"Try the obvious," Sherlock's voice came from the other side of the body. Alice would have laughed at the sight of a talking corpse if they hadn't been investigating. "No, it was 0316. Seems like… ah, here's something. The last message received, dated an hour and ten minutes ago, was from a man who was put under the group 'friends', and it says the wife is having an affair."

"No," Sherlock said, stepping down from the chair. "This wasn't suicide. This was murder."

"By what?" Alice asked. "I've got a motive right here, and all signs point to suicide."

"You didn't look at the body. You chose the scene. The scene is informational, but the corpse makes or breaks the case. This was murder by poisoning, set up to look like a suicide. See this mark? That is the bite of a blue ringed octopus. Someone murdered this man with an exotic octopus. Farfetched, I know. Tell you what. Since we missed dinner, would you like to go for sushi?"

"I hate sushi," Alice told him.

"So do I," Sherlock agreed, walking out of the room with Alice in his wake, "but the most obvious place for an octopus to be would be the restaurant down the street, and they serve octopus. Let's go. Lestrade, I you would bring your vehicle, I think we'll be bringing in your criminal in a few moments."

"I'm innocent!" The sushi chef at the restaurant down the road kept protesting his arrest. However, there were rope fibers on his apron and he had the deadly octopus in a fish tank on the other side of the room. All of the evidence was stacked against him. Within half an hour, they had him locked up on a murder charge.

Alice and Sherlock were back at 221B before eight o'clock. "Glad you got that cleared up. It was a bit of nasty business," Mrs. Hudson was saying as she brought them out plates of pizza. "I'm not going to eat at that place any more. It's a miracle he didn't poison any of the other customers. That chef was the man the wife was having an affair with, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Alice answered.

"With all of these crimes, it sometimes feels like a soap opera around here," Mrs. Hudson admitted. "I'm glad you two look out for each other."

Late that night, Alice was in her own flat when she heard shots ring out next door, flowed by a muffled voice. "BORED!"


	16. Chapter 16

"What have you been doing? I haven't seen nor heard you in a day. I know you're bored out of your skull. That's plain enough to see, but why have you been hiding out in your flat?" Alice asked Sherlock when he showed up at her door. "I seriously thought I was going to have to come and find you."

"I… Alice, I don't feel so well…"

"What's wrong with you? You really do look like Hell. Sit down," she said, gesturing to her sofa as she went into the kitchen. "Don't tell me you've fallen ill. Wait," She took a few steps backwards, looking him over carefully. "Oh dear, don't tell me you've been…"

"I'm sorry," he said, not meeting her gaze.

"Sherlock Holmes, you've been doing so well! What am I going to tell Mycroft when he comes round for tea, hmm? That you're back to being an addict? Where did you get it from? I should have come over yesterday, I should have done something with you, oh, I should have-"

"There's nothing you could have done and should have's don't help now," he said. "Now if you will excuse me, I think I'm going to vomit."

With sounds of retching coming from behind a closed door off of the living room, Alice called Mycroft. "Yes, I have bad news. It's about your brother. Yes, as we were afraid. I should have noticed it, I'm so sorry. No, no, he's here now. Yes, vomiting in my toilet. And I plan on keeping him here for a few days whether he likes it or not. Alright. Alright, I'll make sure. I'm not a doctor, but he'll be fine here. Alright. Alright. Have a good afternoon." She hung up, shaking her head and talking to herself. "Goodness, Sherlock, why?" With a sigh, she made tea and toast, thinking that that was all he had better be eating for a while.

A few minutes later, Sherlock came back to the living room where Alice had taken everything, trying his best to look dignified. "Thank you," he said, sitting down and taking a cup of tea. Whether it was for the tea and toast or the vomiting privileges, she couldn't tell. "I'm sorry, Alice. Don't give me that look. Okay, you want to know why I did it. Well, I was bored. And you know how cocaine stimulates the mind and, well…"

"Boredom is not an excuse," she told him sternly, "You could have overdosed. You could have dropped dead in your flat. What would Mrs. Hudson and I have done then? Why didn't you compose another song or, I don't know, maybe it never dawned on your genius mind but, come over here and talk to me? Or why didn't you at least bother Mycroft? You haven't had a case for a few days and look what you've done!"

"I said I'm sorry. I never meant to get this ill."

"Sorry doesn't cut it. You could have died for real. Please don't do this again. Don't scare me."

"I scare you all the time. I almost die practically every other day."

"Don't give me that either. You know what I mean. I care about you, Sherlock. And so does Mrs. Hudson. And so does Mycroft. And Molly and Lestrade and John – could you imagine me having to explain how his best friend died while he was on his honeymoon? Stick to almost dying on cases."

"Alright, I will. I'll try." He made a move to get up, and Alice stopped him, demanding to know where he was going. "Home."

"No you're not. You're staying here with me for a few days. At least until you can get yourself sorted out and get back to normal."

"You're holding me captive?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. By orders of myself… and _'practically the British Government'_ Mycroft, and by extension, your parents," she told him, "By my orders especially, you are not allowed to leave this flat without my supervision."

"Lovely, now I'm a prisoner," he sighed, adding with a wink, "At least I have a beautiful jailer. Am I allowed to go and get some of my things?"

"I'm going to search them when you get back. You knew that already, I'm sure," she told him as they headed next door, "But why not? Oh, don't give me that look."

"What look? I'm not giving you any look."

"That look right there."

"This is my face, yes," he smiled, looking into the mirror in his flat, "What look am I giving you?"

"That _'You're going to search me? Like strip search?'_ look?" came a voice that made both of them jump. "Hello, brother mine," said Mycroft, striding into the flat, having caught the door before they closed it. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Mycroft walked up to them shaking his head, his arms crossed, obviously more displeased than concerned. "What have you done?"

"Mycroft, you never call me that. Never." Sherlock too took an aggressive stance. "Why have you come here when you have the government resting on your shoulders? I have enough people watching me as it is."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes? Of all of those names, why Sherlock?" Alice asked, the brothers turning to look at her, having forgotten that she was still there.

"I hate all the rest. You never knew?"

"I knew, I'd just never asked."

"How did you…" Sherlock was muttering as Mycroft talked over him, saying all sorts of things focusing on how he was a disgrace and should never have slipped back into his old habits.

"Mycroft Holmes, you have _no_ right to be saying all of that!" After ten minutes, Alice had had enough. She didn't care if Mycroft had her arrested for yelling at the government or not. "His _whole_ life he's been called a freak, a weirdo, and the embodiment of everything _different_ by pretty much everyone. That's enough to drive a person mad, don't you think? Just be glad he isn't a sociopathic murderer. And where was his big brother when all of this was happening? _Well?_** I** know, standing there taunting him like everyone else, just to fit in and get what he wanted, be it the friendships, the attention or the political office. You never wanted a brother, not at all. You'd just wanted to be the shining star of your family, isn't that right? Everyone loved Mycroft Holmes and you wanted it to stay that way. There was no reason a freakish little brother should have been allowed to get in the way of that, right? Well look what you've contributed to! This was his decision, but it was partially your fault, mister. Now that I've said my piece, you can have me arrested if you want, but then that only leaves Mrs. Hudson here with him. Just be glad he didn't overdose. It would have been on your conscience, Mycroft!"

"Thanks," Sherlock smiled. Mycroft was not smiling.

"I defended my brother as best I could," Mycroft told her, "And where were you, little miss heroine, when this was happening? Blissfully unaware next door, am I correct?"

"Mycroft…"

"No Sherlock, let me handle this. I'm not afraid of your brother," she said without looking away from Mycroft. "You expect me to hover over him every minute of every day? He's a grown man, Mycroft, capable of making his own decisions, be they good or bad. You can't control your brother anymore."

"You should be watching out for him, if you care about him as much as you say you do. His girlfriend should know things like, oh, the fact that he's been a drug addict for a while, just starting to recover when he met Watson and then spiraling back when he ran from all of you. She should know that."

"Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled, "Enough is enough. Get out."

"I am your older brother, and a member of the British government. You cannot command me to 'get out'."

"It would probably be best if you left," Alice said, "I'll call you later, I promise. He'll be staying with me, so you won't have to go searching for him."

Mycroft regarded both of them with a loathing usually reserved by most for murderers and sex offenders, and then turned and left. After a few seconds, Sherlock whispered, "Thank you. That was brilliant."


	17. Chapter 17

"Sherlock!" Alice woke with a start a little after midnight.

"What?" came a groggy reply. "Something wrong?" She had made him sleep on the other side of her bed, thinking that if he got up, she would be able to tell, versus having to get up and check the sofa periodically. She was constantly vigilant now, even in sleep. "Is there someone breaking in?" He was sitting up now, looking around with the compounded confusion of being someone not totally awake and waking up in a strange room.

"No, no, relax," she laughed, "Your hair… never mind. I had this dream… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Sherlock, let's play deductions."

"It's like, midnight. I'm tired. And still feel sick. Drug addict problems, remember?" He lay back down and turned away from her.

"Mary Watson."

"Liar," he said, not thinking to filter his thoughts. Really, he was too tired for this. Not now. Go back to sleep. This isn't a case. It isn't too important.

"That's kind of worrying. I agree, that's one of the first things I picked up on when I met her," Alice said, looking at the form lying next to her. "That's a bit concerning, don't you think?"

"If she isn't hacking John apart with an axe right now," he paused to yawn, probably for effect, "then I want to go back to sleep."

"Sherlock?" Alice asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yes?" He rolled over to face her, trying to not get annoyed. "What? I'm tired. And ill. What?"

"Was it true, everything I said earlier? About everyone always calling you a freak? You never talk about being younger. But, they must have, or why…"

He knew that she would be asking these questions eventually. With a sigh, Sherlock told her, "Ever since I can remember, I was different from other children. I learned faster, I could observe more. You know those spot-the-difference puzzles they make you do in the first few years of school? I got through all of them in a few minutes. I just liked observing everything. I discovered you could learn a lot more that way. Well, needless to say, that wasn't so popular with the other kids."

"So you began reading. Let me guess – it was a lot of detective stores?" Alice asked, reflecting back on her own childhood.

"Yes. I finished the library in a year or so. I really did try to talk to the other kids, but they all called me a freak and a weirdo because I never knew _how_ to talk to people. I knew how to deduce things about them, but that never helped. You're probably not getting any of this-"

"It actually sounds a lot like me."

"Anyway, that was pretty much all of my years in school. And then when I went to university, I thought I would find other people like me. The weirdoes and freaks, we would stick together. But that didn't happen. I'd started smoking right before I got into university, and it just escalated there. Then I got attached to Lestrade's division, and nothing changed. Then there was John, you, Moriarty, and 'the Fall', as they all call it. That just made everything worse. I came back, thinking that would solve everything, but it didn't. And I just got so… so bored, so fed up with everything, that I _had_ to. I'm sorry. I know I made a lot of people mad and disappointed, but I couldn't help it."

"Sherlock," Alice said, moving close enough to hug him, a gesture that he gratefully accepted, "nothing they did to you was your fault. I'm proud of you for trying to get away from your habit, I really am, but you scared us pretty badly earlier. I don't want you to die. Next time, please just write me a song or come over here. Or call John or Mycroft or me or Mrs. Hudson. Talk to _someone_."

"I will. I'm sorry." He hugged her back, promising, "I'll try not to scare you again, not like that anyway. We all have enough things threatening our lives as it is, right?"

"Thank you."

"No, thank _you _for putting up with me. You're a saint, you really are. John would have started yelling as soon as he found out. I'm surprised you hadn't had enough of me long ago."

"It's because I care about you, Sherlock. I know John does too, but… I love you."

"I... I love you too, Alice." Then he did something distinctly un-Sherlockian: he kissed her and then held her hand in silence, falling asleep like that.

**A.N.: Aww, well isn't that cute? Please leave me some feedback in the reviews. What do you want to see more of? Should I continue with the series storyline, or should I change it a bit more? Should we see more of the cases? Let me know! **


	18. Chapter 18

A few minutes after eleven-thirty in the morning, Alice stood in the kitchen making lunch. The radio was turned on to the classical channel and something by Bach was echoing through the house. A groggy figure walked into the kitchen, the tails of a dressing gown making him look like a semi-human being. "Well, you're finally awake!" Alice beamed. "Lunch will be ready soon. You know what… dance with me, Sherlock Holmes!" She grabbed his hand, beginning to waltz in the middle of the kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson walked in with a laundry basket while they were dancing to Tchaikovsky. She smiled, glad that things were better now, and left quietly, leaving the basket of folded clothes on the sofa.

"Alice, I've got something to ask you," Sherlock said as they whirled around the improvised dance floor. "What do you think of Janine, Mary's maid of honor?"

"I don't trust her," she said, "Why?"

"What would you think if I started dating her?"

"What?!" Alice stopped mid-step. 'What did you just say?"

"What would you think if I started pretending to date her to get information about a case?" he asked. "You can verify it all with Mycroft. I have a case, and I need access to her employer's office. Only she has the key, and the British Government needs it."

"I would say yes, had you not already gone around my back and started going about this," Alice said, crossing her arms. It was Sherlock's turn to look puzzled. "I already know. Mycroft told me all about it. _He_ thinks I have a right to know what my… what my boyfriend's up to. He told me the fate of Britain is riding on this, and I said yes, you can do this for the case, as long as you don't forget about me."

"I would _never_ forget about you," he assured her. "This case means keeping you, John, and Mary safe. I had to take it. Like when I jumped from the hospital, it was to keep three people safe, John being one of them. Mycroft hasn't told me everything, but he says solving this will have a profound impact. I just thought-"

"No, Mycroft told you to tell me before you got fake-engaged to that woman, didn't he?"

"How do you know?"

"Mycroft told me," she smiled.

"Well, yes. Mycroft told me I ought to tell you before I got fake-engaged. He thought I should have had your permission before I launched into this venture. What do you think?" He looked at her and asked, "Please? You know how bored I get when I'm not on a case, and this one will keep a lot of people safe if I solve it. I promise… I swear on the science and logic that I find so beautiful and fascinating that I don't love her. My love is for you, Alice. I promise that."

"How can I say no to that?" she asked as Sherlock kissed her cheek. "Just… don't do anything stupid."

"I don't do anything stupid," he corrected. She gave him a look, and then he had to correct himself. "Okay, I do. But disaster happens no matter how smart I am."

"At least try not to do anything that would get you shot or anything like that."

"Okay."

"Then the game is on."


	19. Chapter 19

Alice stood in Molly's lab scowling. John had called her earlier from his car. Things were not going well. Alice had been talking to Molly over coffee, discussing how Molly's engagement had ended, when her phone buzzed. She saw that it was John, and decided to take the call. After all, Sherlock had been missing for a day and a half, and she was starting to worry. Perhaps John knew something.

The conversation had been pretty quick, and miraculously did not involve much yelling to the other occupants of the car. When she hung up, she told Molly that they would be expecting visitors at the lab very soon. No sooner had the words left her mouth did John come in, dragging Sherlock by the jacket. Mary followed in silence. "How dare you," Alice glared at Sherlock, "How _dare _you betray the trust we all had in you? How dare you _again_ waste all that you had been gifted? Why the HELL did you do that?!"

"I was undercover on a case. It had to be done," he said resolutely.

"No, no it did not. I can't believe you. What with that scare we had while John and Mary were away-"

"Scare, what scare?" John asked.

"Drug habit scare," Alice responded, not looking at him. "Sherlock Holmes, I could kill you right now."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't mean a thing if you're going to scare us like that!"

A while later, Alice sat in her flat with Mrs. Hudson, looking grave. "You really shouldn't spy on them," Mrs. Hudson was saying while Alice shushed her.

"Sherl, what's up?" Alice heard. She grimaced. Janine was a poor excuse for a human being, and Alice didn't like that Sherlock was "dating" her for a case. She never really liked the idea of an illusory relationship for a case, but Mycroft had insisted that it was a matter of national security. And besides, no one called him Sherl. No one. Ick.

When Alice heard all of them leave, se bade Mrs. Hudson a good day and took off, catching Sherlock as he ducked down an alley, wiping his mouth off with a handkerchief. "I revile that woman," he said, "That was disgusting."

"So do I," Alice said. "How much longer does this have to go on? I wish someone would just kill her and the man she works for."

"I have a feeling things aren't going to go so well after John and I break into Magnussen's office tonight. Just a hunch," he assured her.

"Very well. I really have to get going. Lestrade's probably looking for me. He said he has a fresh homicide I need to look at before the day is over. Do me a favor and don't die trying to break into that office." She left him with a kiss, hurrying into a cab that was nearby.

A few hours later, Alice was alone in her lab. The homicide had been easy, an open and shut case within an hour. There were a few more blood samples to catalogue, and then she would be done for the night. Hopefully she would be able to catch a cab back to Baker Street, make sure Sherlock was back, and go off to bed without any trouble. She had just turned off her microscope when her phone began to ruing. It was John.

"Hello? Is everything alright? It's nearly midnight."

The voice on the other end of the line didn't sound too good. "Alice, get to the emergency wing. We're at Bart's now. Sherlock's been shot." John hung up.

Alice bolted for the door, grabbing her coat and not bothering to tie her scarf on as she flew up the stairs, pushing past doctors and nurses, not saying hello to her coworkers or stopping for anyone. She made it to the emergency room in record time, fighting her way through the crowd to find John sitting in a chair talking to a doctor, who was shaking his head.

"What's going on?" she asked, out of breath.

"He was shot in Magnussen's office by an unknown assailant," said the doctor. Alice recognized him. He was often bringing bodies down to the morgue. "He's in surgery now." Something hung unsaid between the group.

"John…" Alice didn't dare to say it.

"They don't know. He's had brushes with death before, but… this time they don't know. He isn't doing well."

"Can we go in?" Alice asked the doctor.

"Are you out of your mind, woman? The man is dying! We can try to save him, but not with you underfoot."

"I'm a doctor, and so is John. Can you let us in to the surgery room? Please? Allan, you know how much this means to me. I was there when Suzanne passed, do you remember? I was in the surgery room with you. You got to see your wife one last time in surgery. Please, don't let me lose him…"

"No," said the doctor, getting up and walking away, "I have to get back there."

Alice sat down next to John, grabbing his hand when someone in scrubs emerged from an operating room. "Sorry," she said, letting go. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine. I know you're worried. We all are."

"Alice, John, how's he doing?" Lestrade walked over, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to them. Molly quickly followed, and Mary showed up a few minutes after Mycroft.

The small group was talking in quick, clipped sentences when a doctor finally emerged from the operation room with a smile. "He's pulled through. Damn, that man's a fighter."


	20. Chapter 20

It was a day before Alice was allowed in to visit Sherlock, but it seemed to be an eternity. When she finally was cleared, she went up to his room quickly, skipping steps and not stopping on any of the landings. He was asleep when she got there, but that was fine. She pulled a chair up to his bed and held his hand, watching him breathe peacefully. He had survived another brush with death. She really needed to keep him safer, especially now that John wasn't always around to keep tabs on him.

It was nearly an hour before he awoke, smiling and saying, "I'm okay. Nearly indestructible, remember?"

"Good. I'm glad you're alright. Sherlock, you scared me," She kissed him softly, "You scared all of us."

"Who the Hell are you?" Janine walked into the room, carrying a stack of newspapers. "Who the Hell are you, and what are you doing with my fiancée?"

"Ah, it seems like you've been misinformed," Alice stood up and walked over to where Janine was standing, "I heard your conversation with him earlier, and I've been able to deduce you're nothing but a publicity hungry… well, let's keep this civil, shall we? I know your fake engagement is over, we all do. No one ever believed you two were really dating but John Watson, and he can be a bit thick-skulled at times. I'm his real girlfriend," Alice smiled devilishly, Sherlock nodding behind her, "and I think you need to get out of here before one of us decides to report you for slander and libel."

"Well, someone's a bit of a bitc-" Janine was cut off when Alice punched her in the face, resisting the urge to strangle her.

"_Get. Out. Now_." Alice hissed, and Janine flew out of the room with a promise that Alice would make the afternoon papers. "I don't give a damn if I do!" Alice called after her, sitting down by Sherlock again.

"Thank you," he smiled weakly, "I trust you've seen the lies she's written?"

"No one will believe them but idiotic housewives," Alice told him, "and besides, I think I may just sit down for an interview or two. Maybe get a spot on television for the story, and discredit her in the process. I've never liked her."

"Of course you've never liked her," Sherlock said, "It was always a rivalry between you two."

"I won."

"There was no competition," he winked.

"Ick," John said from where he stood at the door. "Ick, I did not need to hear that. Seriously, chicks dig scars and bullet wounds, but Sherlock…" They all erupted into peals of laughter which had to stop short when Sherlock gasped that he couldn't laugh. "Sorry."

* * *

**A.N.: What do you think so far? Let me know! All feedback, suggestions and comments are appreciated!**


	21. Chapter 21

"'Yes, you may need to restart my heart. I believe I'm bleeding internally.' That's what he told them," John shook his head. "He really is going to get himself killed doing things like this one day."

Alice had spent another stressful few days hovering around the intensive care unit of the hospital after the famed detective's breakout. He was alright now, thank goodness, but for the next few months, she would have to play babysitter, not for John and Mary's child that was on the way, but rather for an overgrown child who liked to play hide-and-seek throughout London. "You've been nominated to keep him out of trouble," Lestrade told her, "Since John doesn't live there anymore and Mrs. Hudson isn't always around, it'll be up to you. I'll send you case files and the like for a few weeks, but after two, I expect you'll come in to the office for a few hours every day. Just keep an eye on Sherlock. Keeping his mind busy is going to be hard."

"He'll be fine," Alice promised, peering in the window at a sleeping Sherlock. 'They let him out tomorrow, you said?"

"Yeah," John nodded before trying to give her a full medical briefing on what she should be looking out for in terms of organ damage, blood poisoning, and all sorts of other things.

"After five minutes of that medical prattle, John, I must confess, I stopped paying attention," she told him with a yawn. "I'm in criminology and such. I know all about that. Hello Molly."

Molly had just arrived, coming up from the morgue after signing out for the night. She had visited Alice every day, Alice having practically camped out in the intensive care hallway. It was nice having someone to talk to who was just as concerned as she was, and it helped a lot when she got bored, which Alice often did. "Any news?"

"He's going to be discharged tomorrow," Alice told her, "and then he'll be moving into my flat, at least for a few weeks. After three or so, we'll see if he wants to go back to his. Between me and our medical expert Dr. Watson here, I think we can manage."

The next afternoon, 221C was swarming with visitors. Molly had arrived early and helped Alice and Mrs. Hudson prepare lunch for a crowd, and John and Mary had shown up soon after. Anderson had appeared out of nowhere, and soon half of Scotland Yard had shown up to offer their support. Sherlock, altogether done with the amount of people that had showed up, had taken to a chair in the corner of the room, where Alice sat next to him, watching the rest of the group.

"It's almost like a party," he remarked.

"It's a welcome home party. A bunch of our friends are here to say they're glad you're getting better."

"Our friends? I don't have this many friends."

"Sherlock! Good to see you!"

"Hello, Mycroft," he said sullenly.

"Glad to know you're doing better, brother mine. I think I'll go get a bite of whatever your housekeeper's made for lunch. I'm starved."

"Not their housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson called over the crowd. Despite her correction, she was smiling like one of her sons had come home.

"Well, you're alive, Freak," Sally Donovan walked over with a glass of brandy in one hand. "I'm surprised you haven't been shot before. Criminals round here don't know how to aim, I guess."

Alice stood up so she was eye-to-eye with Donovan. "I will not hesitate to hurt you if you don't stop calling him a freak. He's a bloody genius, nothing you could ever amount to."

"Ooh, your girlfriend's a feisty one, Freak." Donovan laughed, though Sherlock and Alice were clearly not smiling. "Glad she's around to protect you?"

"That's it," Alice muttered. Without a second thought, she punched Donovan in the jaw, sending her falling backwards, spilling brandy all over herself and the floor. "Get out of my flat. _Now_."

This spectacle had turned a few heads. No one seemed to know exactly what to do or say, but Mrs. Hudson rushed over to help Sally up and scowl at Alice. "Whatever are you doing?!" she asked, sopping up spilled alcohol with a wad of napkins.

"It's quite alright, ma'am," Lestrade told her, having been listening to the whole conversation, "Dr. Ripley had every right to do that, I assure you. Sally, I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect from anyone on my force, be it in the office, on a crime scene, or elsewhere."

Donovan left in a huff, and the rest of the "party" went smoothly. The gathering didn't dissipate until well after eleven at night, when John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, Alice, and of course, Sherlock, were the only ones left. At eleven-thirty, the Watsons bid everyone farewell.

"You really shouldn't have done that to that poor girl," Mrs. Hudson told Alice as they were cleaning up paper plates that were strewn all over the place. "You didn't have to haul off and _punch_ her, I mean."

"She deserved it," Sherlock yelled to them. "And what kind of late-night programming is this? Telly's been reduced to crap."

Alice and Mrs. Hudson shared a smile, knowing things would slowly go back to normal.


	22. Chapter 22

Alice scanned an email from Lestrade as Sherlock kept interrupting. He had only been home for a few days now, and he was already getting restless. A case would have been lovely, but there was no way he was in any shape to go out anywhere. So he bothered Alice and tried to solve her cases before she did. Lestrade sent her information and she went to crime scenes, but the majority of her work would be done from Baker Street for the next couple of weeks. "Oxygen bubbles in the blood? Hypodermic needle? Did you see the body?"

"No, not yet. I have to go to the mortuary this afternoon, so I'm going to ask Molly to have it ready for me to look at when I get there to speed things along. I don't want to leave you here for too long."

"I'm not a child."

"Says the man who got himself shot, ran away from the hospital on a case, and is now living in my flat for the time being and going mad because he doesn't have anything to occupy his brilliant mind?" Alice laughed. "Tell you what, I'll go get your violin and you can compose something while I'm gone. It's been awfully quiet around here without your composing. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will appreciate a soundtrack to her housework."

"Fine. For you," he said grudgingly – or so he tried to make it seem.

Alice's phone beeped as she was buttoning her coat. _On my way back. Hope to catch up with you some time. Not with the genius, don't worry. I'll keep my hands off. ;) – I_

"Who was that? Is there a quadruple murder?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

"Just Mary. You know she and John aren't getting along very well. Something to do with Magnussen and threats and the like, but she wanted to meet up for coffee."

"Well then," He seemed to deflate. "Give Gary my regards, and the Watsons as well."

"Greg, his name is **Greg**. Really, you're brilliant, but how can you mess that up? You've only worked with the man for years now. Have you seen my bag? Ah, there it is."

"It's not important. The name, I mean. You don't need to know names. They're merely a collection of nonsense syllables we use to label ourselves and pretend we're comfortable with fitting things into categories."

"Right then," she said, kissing his forehead. "You don't get yourself hurt any more than you already are. Mrs. Hudson will be down with tea in a little while. If I'm not back before lunch-"

"I'm_ fine_, Mum," Sherlock smiled. "Go. You don't need to be stuck here on my account."

It only took Alice a few minutes to get to Bart's, where she met up with Lestrade, who had come down to check out the body that had died with oxygen in its veins. "What I don't get is who would have had the means to do this. He wasn't with the drug crowd, so it wasn't an accident, as far as I can tell. Ah, hello, Alice. We've been expecting you. Molly here was starting to worry."

"How's Sherlock?" Molly asked as Alice donned a pair of rubber gloves and pulled out a magnifying glass to look at the pinprick wound left in the corpse's right arm.

"He's taking the current circumstances well enough. He's itching to get back to work though," Alice had just put her magnifying glass down when her phone started ringing. "It's Sherlock. Sorry," she ducked out into the hallway. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, calm down. It's just that I've figured it out. The man was stabbed with a hypodermic needle by none other than his own doctor, whom he went to for a flu shot the day he died. It wasn't premeditated, it was a careless accident."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can put the doctor on the phone and let you talk to her. Everything checks out."

"Wait, what? Sherlock, where are you?"

"I didn't go far…"

"Get back to Baker Street right now! You've only been out of the hospital for a few days, and you're up and gallivanting about London? You're really going to get yourself killed one day!" She dropped her voice. "Please. I worry about you, Sherlock. Please go home. I'll meet you there. And just because you're right doesn't mean I'm not incredibly disappointed. What would your mother and father say? And what about Mycroft? They surely wouldn't want their son and brother running around a week after he's been shot."

Molly and Lestrade were in the hall now, both listening in on the conversation. When Alice hung up, Lestrade simply said, "That's brilliant. We'll send some people down to the doctor's office and check things out, but if you and Sherlock agree, the case is closed. You've got the rest of the day off. Back to Baker Street – we need out detectives in one piece."


	23. Chapter 23

"Poison in the nail polish leached into the nail beds and killed her," Alice suppressed a smile. "That's pretty clever. But not clever enough." She had just finished typing up a case summary for Scotland Yard, Sherlock hovering over her shoulder. He was going to go mad if she didn't let him go out on a case soon, but it had really only been about a week and a half since he had come home from the hospital with a bullet wound and strict instructions not to overexert himself.

"Damn! I should have gotten it before you! How could I have been so stupid! The weapon was on the corpse the whole time!" Lestrade's idea of the two of them "working together on cases and being the best crime-solving team since Holmes and Watson" thing wasn't going too well. It had turned into more of a friendly rivalry, with both sides keeping tallies of how many cases they had solved before the other figured it out. "Wait, look, grant's just sent you another one."

"Greg, Sherlock, Lestrade's name is Greg."

"Irrelevant. Open the email."

"Rude," she laughed, clicking the message.

_Here's what we've got: a body with no obvious injuries or poisonings. Molly's run all the normal tests, and by all of our results, this guy should still be alive. There are no wounds aside from a scar that was a result of a childhood boating accident. We have no idea what happened. He should be alive, but he apparently dropped dead in the middle of a supermarket. There are no leads and no one has a vendetta against the guy. Go to Bart's and check it out. This is really strange. _

_p.s. – Bring Sherlock._

"Let's go," Sherlock said, starting to get up slowly.

"Hold on, where do you think you're going?"

"Bart's, of course," he said, reaching for his coat and acting like it was a perfectly logical idea.

"You're barely out of the hospital for two weeks with a gunshot wound. I really shouldn't have to keep reminding you of this."

"But the message said 'bring Sherlock'. You're going to bring Sherlock."

Alice sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to stay here unless she knocked him out of drugged him. "Fine. You're not leaving my sight, not for one minute. I plan on getting you back here in the same condition you left in. That means even if we do figure out who did this, I will go chasing after them and not you. You can get the credit if you figure it out, but you're not going on a chase through London in your state."

Half an hour later, they stood with Molly around a body. Lestrade was right. He was a perfectly healthy man one minute, and a dead man the next. "I've run all sorts of tests. It wasn't heavy metal poisoning, and we haven't found traces of any obvious chemical compounds. We think he was poisoned – the heart is fine, no brain aneurisms," Molly told them, "Nothing really wrong, except, well, he's dead."

Sherlock and Alice began inspecting the body, and within minutes, Sherlock had found a possible answer. "The heel, there's a pinprick on the heel. He could have stepped on a thorn gardening, but he's clearly not the gardening type. This was a businessman, someone who had people to do his gardening for him. So what explains the injury except for someone putting something in his shoe?"

"He would never have taken his shoes off in his office, and he wouldn't have done his own shopping. So why the store? He was looking for flowers, by the looks of the pollen under the fingernails. Obviously a present," Alice fired back. Molly was amazed to watch them. It was like extensions of the same brain relaying information around. "so the killer was likely the one who put his shoes out for him in the morning. Not the wife, but a trusted maid."

"But what did they kill him with?" Molly asked. "You have a murderer, but there's no reason to kill him. If it was the maid, it wouldn't be money. She wouldn't be in his will. Plus there's no weapon yet."

"That, Miss Hooper, is the interesting part," Sherlock said, "Alice, we need to go to this man's house. Molly, tell Lestrade we're heading to intercept the killer, would you please?"


	24. Chapter 24

"So it really was the maid then? With what? What did he die of, exactly?" Sherlock, Alice and Lestrade were coming to the end of a press conference that they all had rather wanted to avoid altogether.

"Potassium, in the end," Sherlock told them, "She had been biding her time for months and had finally found a prime time to inject her boss with it, when he was so stressed that he wouldn't notice a pinprick while putting his shoes on before heading off to work. Luckily we were able to intercept her before she tried fleeing the country with the contents of his safe."

"Personal question," a reporter stood up, nearly tripping over her photographer's camera bag, "Mr. Holmes, do you think your relationship with Dr. Ripley has helped in crime solving?"

"She was most definitely an asset to this case. However, we're here to talk murder, not relationships. Any other questions before we bring this to a close?"

The reporter hadn't sat down, showing that she intended o ask another question. "What is the extent of your relationship? My readers are dying to know."

"I'll field that question," Alice said, glancing at an angering Sherlock before turning back to the reporter. "It's none of your business. Oh, you and your readers will talk, I'm sure, but we're not prying into your lives, are we? We deserve some privacy and not to be followed around with cameras all of the time. That means you, whoever's getting photographs of our flats," she said to the camera that was live broadcasting to the major news networks. "Miss… you've never told me your name, I'm sorry. But do I know you? You look awfully familiar."

"Kitty Riley," Sherlock whispered, "Helped Moriarty and hid him for a while when he was Richard Brook." Turning to the reporters, he announced, "This conference is over. I have work to do."

A few days later, the sun was beginning to set on Baker Street. Alice was busy typing away on her laptop, and Sherlock had turned on the television after Mrs. Hudson brought in dinner. "What are you watching?"

"The Doctor."

"Doctor Who? What do you think of it? I think he seems like you sometimes," she said wistfully.

"It's pretty good, actually. Not like the normal crap telly we get. But the one writer, goodness, I want to yell at him sometimes."

"Hmm." Alice was reading something Mycroft had sent her, not totally paying attention to what Sherlock was saying about the mechanics of the TARDIS and the research behind the episodes. "Sherlock, listen to this. A diplomat from Switzerland was killed a few hours ago when his computer exploded. The preliminary investigation found nothing wrong with the computer, meaning that nothing had malfunctioned and there were no charges placed inside of it. It was deemed an accident, but behind closed doors, the government is worried that it has something to do with terrorists and that it may happen again. What should I tell them?"

"The government, or the Government?"

"The Mycroft Government," she smiled.

"We're on it." He hopped up from where he was sitting, stepped right over the coffee table, and grabbed his coat. "I'll need to see the body, the office, and any recovered computer parts. This'll be an interesting one, to say the least."

"Where are you going? We aren't going to the morgue now, Molly will be locking up soon and the scene hasn't been cleared. Besides, you need your rest. What has it been, three and a half weeks?" Alice had made no effort to get up and call a cab.

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly works late, and she'd leave the morgue open for me. We need to see the body before-"

"Sherlock, three and a half weeks have gone by since you got out of the hospital _for a gunshot wound_. You still need to be careful. Secondly, you can't be lording potential affection over Molly. It isn't right to make her all hopeful only to dash her dreams, especially with me around. Really, you can be insufferable sometimes. Thirdly, you need to learn to slow down and work normal hours. I don't think it's too good for you to be running about all hours of the day or night just because you have a case."

"Okay," he sighed, hanging his coat back up and heading back to his chair. "First thing tomorrow we're going to go to the morgue."

She turned to face him, having dashed off a reply to Mycroft. "You were going to wear your pajamas to the morgue?" Alice laughed.

"Oh," Sherlock looked down, noted that he was indeed wearing pajamas, and then back at her, "I guess I was. Just be glad it wasn't a bed sheet. At least I have _some_ decency when you're around."

"I don't think she'd mind," laughed a voice from the stairwell. "Sherlock, I actually don't think she'd mind if you walked around in a bed sheet." John walked into the room. "I just came over to check up on you all. Good to see you've been up and about, Sherlock. I figured it wouldn't take too long for you to crave a case again."

"Nice to see my blogger," he smiled as John sat down, Alice offering to make them all tea. "How are things with Mary?"

Alice receded to the kitchen, knowing that things were still tense between the Watsons, with the discovery of Mary's past and the baby on the way. Whatever was in store for them, it ought to be interesting.


	25. Chapter 25

"Mummy wants to know if you'll be coming for Christmas."

"Mummy? You still call your mother Mummy?" Alice smiled.

"I'm on the phone, she can hear you!"

"Tell her I'd be delighted," Alice said, finishing off an email to Lestrade. They had been to the morgue that morning to look at the body of the man found dead when his computer spontaneously combusted. There were no leads so far, and the corpse was pretty gruesome.

"Yes, she says she would be delighted. I know, I know," Sherlock walked into his room, closing the door behind him to muffle his voice. Alice smiled. Christmas with the Holmes', to say the least, would be interesting. Hopefully it would be a nice, normal day where no one ended up dead. If anything, she figured it would be Mycroft, since he had a habit of annoying people, Alice and Sherlock especially.

A few minutes later, she heard the door open again. "Ugh, Mummy's – Mum's – so sentimental. She wants the whole family together for Christmas, just like things used to be when everything was alright. She's invited the Watsons too. But she really wants to meet you."

"I would _assume_ so, since you're staying with me for a few months and we've been working together. Not to mention the, err, dates, if you'd call chasing criminals through London proper dates."

"It's called sapio-"

"I know what it's called. Brainy is the new sexy," Alice smiled.

Sherlock took a step back, the couple losing a kiss like it was dropped off a pier. A pier on the side of Mount Everest. "What did you just say?"

"Have I said something wrong? Are you alright?"

"Fine, dizzy spell. No, no, that sounds like I'm on drugs, doesn't it? Let's suffice to say that the last time I heard that, there was a gun hidden in a safe that I was forced to open and I had to embark on one of the most dangerous games I've ever played."

"She said it, didn't she? The woman?" Alice crossed her arms, waiting. "Well? Am I right?"

"Yes," he sighed.

"Well, we all have people in the past and bridges to burn, don't we? Just look at Mary's life."

"Have you discovered anything else about the supposed spontaneous combustion?" Sherlock changed the subject, which Alice readily took up. Discussion of the woman was out of bounds, and both of them knew that. She was the only person who had ever beaten Sherlock – in the mental sense, Alice always added. But Sherlock had beaten Moriarty, who the woman had worked for. So who had really won? Well, the game was over and done with.

"Not much," Alice said, "But I have a theory. What if there is a code that can be sent to someone, and when they open it, when they open the normal looking message it's in, their computer gets infected with something, something that makes it explode… somehow?"

"That's a lot of what if's. leaves a lot of room for error."

"That's all we have now. I don't suppose you have any idea how this happened? I'm hesitant to call it a freak accident." Alice's phone started ringing. She picked it up and answered, seeing that it was Mycroft.

"There's been another one," he said, "a businesswoman was working in her office when an aide said she saw the woman's computer explode. Everything was normal, and then…"

"Boom," Alice finished his sentence. "The computer, was there anything on it? Any sort of programs that shouldn't have been there?"

"We've had a technological team look it over. They found the battery completely melted, but there was no charge placed in the computer. It's like the computer itself is the bomb, but we can't find any sort of bomb-like materials in it."

"Don't worry, we'll figure this out." She hung up. "we'll have to."


	26. Chapter 26

**A.N.: Darcy, thank you for your awesome review! Reviews seem to be rare in this fandom, and I like feedback, so I love when I get comments :)**

**SpectrumLight: Thank you so much! Yes, it's quite a feat for her to be 'Sherlock Holmes worthy'. That's quite a hard thing to be.**

* * *

"This is it," Alice said, her face illuminated by her glowing laptop. "Sherlock, wake up, I think I've figured it out!"

"What? What is it? Something wrong?" He jumped up from the sofa where he had fallen asleep in front of the telly.

"No, nothing's wrong. I think I figured it out is all," she waited for him to walk over before she said, "see, this website explains how to rewire computers. I think the killer's sending messages containing a code that makes the computers rewire themselves. When they do that, they obviously trip something, and there's a reaction with the battery acid and the silicon chips, maybe? And that might create the-"

"Hydrofluoric acid! Alice, you're a genius," he kissed the top of her head, pulling her laptop away and starting to type so quickly that he looked at one with the computer. "Here it is, hydrofluoric acid can react with the chips, and if given the proper conditions, this works."

"But why? Why the diplomat, why the businesswoman? Are they connected in any way, do you suppose?"

"Two high profile killings in a week, one of them a foreign national. Something has to be up. There's got to be a link. A link, somehow. A link, I need a **link**!" By now he was beginning to tear at his hair.

"What if… oh no… what if whoever's doing this is building up to something? Like – look!" she pointed to the text scrolling across the top of the laptop's screen. _Parliament member severely injured after cell phone combusted. _"They're working their way up the British government. That businesswoman, she was part of the treasury, and the diplomat was visiting. Now a Parliament member's dying."

"They want to kill the government. No, they want the government to bring itself down by answering messages, like they do thousands of times a day already. We've got to warn them before the Queen picks up her phone for the wrong number. I'll ring John, then Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. You take Mycroft, Molly and Mary," he instructed, starting to dial already. "Tell them not to pick up or answer anything unless it's from one of us. The code word is… Vatican cameos will do."

"Mycroft, hi, it's Alice. No, no, Sherlock's okay, but we think you're in danger." And so went the next hour or so, the two of them making calls to the people who had to be kept safe. The knowledge of the code bomber would not go out to the general public, of course, until the culprit was safe behind bars. No one would be in danger unless they were part of the upper echelon in the government, or part of the investigative team.

Alice decided to go visit Mycroft in person to show him all that they had discovered online about the bombings. Instructing Sherlock to stay in the flat and monitor things both on the public news and the police network, she grabbed her coat and left, taking the closest cab.

"We've gone past the building," she told the driver. "You'll need to turn around if you don't want to loop around a few blocks."

"No, I most certainly don't want that. But I'm afraid we aren't going there at all. Change of destinations, my dear."


	27. Chapter 27

Alice arrived at a house that looked like any other. She had tried to memorize the streets that they had passed in case she had to run, but it had been a dizzying number. The driver opened her door, allowing a woman dressed as a maid to escort her inside.

She noted every detail of the inside of the house, seeing what could be used as a weapon and in what circumstances. This was still kidnapping, and if she was going to be killed, she would put up a hell of a fight first, and make sure it was evident who the killer was. She was brought into a drawing room, sparsely furnished save for two chairs. One of them was occupied.

"So, we meet," smiled the woman in the chair, extending her hand, "Irene Adler. I used to be professionally known as the Woman."

"I knew you on sight," Alice said tartly, "What do you want? If it's him, no way."

"No dear, I want to warn you."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Alice said sarcastically, "Why would you be warning me about anything?"

"Because, whether it seems like it or not, I do care a bit about you. Call it transference of sentiment if you will, but I think you should know that you are in danger as long as you associate with Sherlock Holmes."

"That was a risk I willingly took on and a risk I willingly still continue to bear," Alice said, not taking her eyes off of Irene. Talking to this woman was like playing three games of three-dimensional chess with a cobra. One false move and you'd be trapped, no matter how good of a player you were. "Okay, say I was willing to listen to your warning, what would I hear?"

"You are in danger. There is a man who is very much like me, who uses people's weaknesses, their pressure points, to exploit them and blackmail them. He is a man after my own heart. However, I don't wish to see your dear detective harmed. You can and will be used against him."

"Why are you warning me?"

"I do not work for this man, but in my previous line of work, I came across his type frequently. I know them all too well. When I saw he was coming to London, I thought I ought to drop in and give you a friendly warning. I'll only be here for the day. My flight home leaves in an hour."

"You're not friendly," Alice narrowed her eyes, "You're anything but. A cunning, manipulative, lying, cheating skank is what you are. You think you can make up for a life of evil by warning me of this, but you're wrong. You see, when this man, Magnussen, yes, I know his name, finds a pressure point, he toys with it. He wants to use Mary to get at John, who is one of Sherlock's pressure points, who is one of Mycroft's. As long as he has Mary, he has the British Government in the palm of his hand. And I'm sure he knows he can use me too. But I already knew all of that. So if that's all you have to say, I'll be leaving now."

As she stood, Irene said, "Give my regards to Sherlock."

"Never," Alice told her curtly. "It would do you very well to get out of the country and never return. I don't want to become a murderer, and killing you would be a waste of my time."

She called Sherlock as soon as she was in a cab, relieved that he picked up on the first ring. "Sherlock, are you alright? Yes? Good. No, I was just worried is all. Please stay on the phone with me until I get there, and don't answer the door. Tell Mrs. Hudson to lock the two of you in."


	28. Chapter 28

John was over that night. He had brought Chinese food in, making Alice very glad that she didn't have to cook. They had sat down in the living room to eat, nothing too formal. Alice was nervous all evening, constantly looking over at the windows to make sure no one was looking back in when she looked out.

"I can't believe Lestrade won't let me get back to work full time yet," Sherlock was saying when Alice had verified for the third time that the door from the street was bolted. 'Working on Alice's cases is nice, but I want to be out _doing_ something. I miss the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through my veins…"

"Of course he won't let you back. It's only been a few months," John said, "You were shot at point blank, and you died that night. I'm surprised he's letting you back at all considering that."

"What?" Sherlock asked as Alice sat back down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder as he put an arm around her. Surprisingly, John had gotten used to this. He took to Alice much better than he had taken to Janine. His explanation had been that Alice was an obvious choice for Sherlock, since they were so much alike, while Janine had been so doltish, so idiotic, that it had been hard to function with an IQ as low as hers in the room.

"You died, Sherlock," she said softly, "Your heart stopped on that operating table. The doctors all gave up. They had already told us you were gone when you pulled through."

_Alice and John sat tight-lipped in the emergency room. They had heard nothing for the past few minutes, which was more nerve-wracking than hearing constant updates. Molly had just called and said that she would be on the way up soon when a doctor emerged from surgery. He had been out before, looking for a nurse, but this time he looked defeated. With a sigh, he crouched in front of Alice and John, who by now had grabbed each other's hands out of fear. "You're the girlfriend?" he asked. Alice nodded. "And you are?"_

"_His best friend," John said in a clipped tone._

_The doctor took Alice's free hand as she began crying, realizing what he was going to tell her but still denying it. "He's gone. There's no way…" _

"_He wouldn't just die on me. On us," she whispered. "Sherlock wouldn't do that."_

"_Some things cannot be survived, no matter how well people normally bounce back," he said. "I'm sorry."_

"_Doctor Harris, get back in here! Who gave you authorization to leave?" a nurse shouted for the surgery room. _

"_Sorry, ma'am, this is the family. They have a right to know now."_

"_Well get back here! There's a lot of post-op work to do."_

"_Got to dash," Dr. Harris told them, "I'm sorry." _

"_This… John, this isn't possible," Alice said, her eyes now full of tears, "What happened to virtually indestructible?"  
"Virtually." _

"_**John!**__"_

"_I'm telling the truth," he said, "no one is indestructible. Not even Sherlock."_

"_I only want one more miracle. Sherlock's good at miracles. I don't want him to be dead."_

"_Sometimes we don't have a choice in the matter. He's died twice now. I think that's his limit for a lifetime," John said, hugging her. "I'm sorry."_

"_If I ever get my hands on who did this…" _

"_Ma'am," a nurse stuck her head out of the door, "this is your boyfriend, right?" Alice nodded, holding back a sob. "He's a fighter. We've got a heartbeat." _

"Well, I wasn't going to leave you so soon," Sherlock said, with a smile. He kissed her nose, resting his head on hers. This was something John was never really going to get used to. It was so… unSherlockian.

"Has he been to see you since he was last over? Magnussen?" John asked, trying to forget what he just saw.

"Yes, he came for lunch one day when Alice was out. John, we have been invited to Appledorf for Christmas."

"But what about your parents? The house in Sussex?" Alice asked.

"We'll just leave a little early," Sherlock told her. "Nothing to worry about."

"Sherlock Holmes, I always have to worry about you."


	29. Chapter 29

"It's been Christmas for days," Mycroft complained over a cup of tea. "And yet it's only two o'clock."

"Christmas spirit, everyone," Sherlock muttered.

Everyone else was having a good time, many of them getting acquainted with the Holmes' for the first time. "Don't call me Mrs. Holmes, dear," Sherlock's mother was saying with a wink, "I think you'll end up being Mrs. Holmes soon enough!"

"Mum!" Sherlock yelled from the other room, making the two women laugh. "Do shut up!" A door slammed, marking the exit of the detective and his brother.

"Oh, don't listen to him," Mrs. Holmes smiled, peering out the window at her sons, "I can tell. Are those boys smoking?"

A few minutes later, Alice entered the kitchen to find everyone asleep. Mrs. Holmes had fallen where she was, her husband asleep in a chair by the table. Mycroft was fast asleep, using his laptop for a pillow. Alice knew a drugging when she saw one. "Sherlock! Come here, quickly! Everyone's been drugged!" There was a sound of footsteps as Alice began to feel faint. "Sherlock, I've been drugged too!"

"I know," said his voice, someone catching her as she began to fall over, and placing her gently on the floor. The last thing she saw was Sherlock kneeling next to her, saying, "You'll be fine. Trust me."

When she came to, the house was in a state of chaos. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were both frantically dialing on different phones, cursing when they got answering machines. Mycroft had enlisted Bill's help in turning the room upside down, asking Alice if she had seen his laptop as soon as she stood up. Mary had wandered into the room and taken a chair at the kitchen table, looking quite lost. "Mycroft, what's happened? Did he really…?"

"Yes, Sherlock drugged all of us, and he's run off with my laptop! It's filled with information any other government would love to get its hands on, and knowing my idiot little brother, he already has the password. He's sold us out, all of us, for something," Mycroft said, standing on a chair and looking in the back of a tall cabinet. "If he hasn't hidden it, he's fled with it."

"Where?!" his mother demanded, "It's Christmas day and my son is gone after he's drugged all of us. You're supposed to be keeping an eye on him in London, where is he now?"

"Mum, if I knew, I'd tell you. Now what's more important, the safety of the country or your son?"

"Appledorf," Alice said over the noise, "He's taken the laptop and run to Appledorf. He needs it as a bargaining chip. Mycroft, let's go!" She grabbed her coat from its place by the door, all eyes now on her, "He's going to use it to get information, but what he hasn't figured out is that the information he wants isn't in physical files. Magnussen's too smart for that. What he wants only exists in Magnussen's head. Mycroft, we have to go before he has to give the laptop up. He's selling out the whole country for-"

"Well, for what?"

"For us. For one of us. It's all part of Magnussen's pressure point thing. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, it's been lovely, and we'll be back later, but we really do have to run. Bill, take care of Mary. Mary, we'll bring John back for you. I promise." Alice and Mycroft bolted for the door, not taking care to close it as they ran for a car.

_He could have easily used Alice against you. You know what Mycroft is going to say about that. Emotions are troubling. They get in the way and clog up the machine that your brain is meant to be. _Sherlock said nothing as he and John approached the massive Appledorf complex. _It really would have been easy. Surely she has some secret that can be used as blackmail. Everyone does. _He allowed his mind to drift back to that morning, thinking that he should have left Alice a note. After all, he was going to go play chess with a dragon, and who knows? Perhaps this time he would be the one roasted alive.

"_You won't do anything stupid, will you? And you'll bring me along?" Alice had asked._

"_Of course," he had told her, pausing as they walked around the side of the house, not entering it just yet. "I'll get out alive, like always. Nearly indestructible, remember?"_

"_That's what worries me," she had said, "__**Nearly**__." _

Alice and Mycroft had exchanged the car for a government helicopter, and they were quickly approaching Appledorf. It was getting dark out – it had been a while after they had been drugged that they had all woken up, and now the day was quickly winding down. "There! Pilot, fly down there," Mycroft instructed, pointing towards what looked like a marble patio, where three men stood.

Alice watched in horror as one of them pulled a gun from the other's pocket and shot the man standing opposite. "No," she gasped, inaudible over the noise of the helicopter. Laser sights and spotlights were trained on the man, who dropped the gun and held his hands up, lowering himself to his knees in surrender. "Sherlock, what have you done?"

The helicopter landed, laser sights still trained on the man. Mycroft got out of the chopper, his security detail forming a ring around him as they approached the patio, stopping around ten feet away. "You are going to be held in jail until we decide what to do with you. So far you're going to be charged with murder and high treason. Don't add resisting arrest to the- GET BACK FROM HIM!" Alice had run past the security detail, tearfully engulfing Sherlock in a hug. The laser sights were now trained on her back. "I SAID GET AWAY FROM HIM! IT'S TOO DANGEROUS!" Mycroft bellowed.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" she asked, paying no attention to Mycroft.

"What had to be done to protect my friends," he said, very out of character for him. "I'll find a way out of this. I always do. Be careful. I… I love you." He gave her a quick kiss, spinning her back around and pushing her towards Mycroft and his security guards and holding his hands up again, ready to face whatever would happen next.


End file.
